Five Poems by Rainer Marie Rilke Translated by Richard Becker

from Neue Gedichte

Autumn		

Leaves fall from far away, withered
Voiceless, as from heavens’ distant gardens.
 
At night in midst of all the stars falls
Heavy earth in all its oneness.
 
All of us are falling. This hand falls— 
And the other—as in everything,
 	
Yet there is one in whose hands 
This falling is forever gently held. 






Herbst
 
Die Blätter fallen, fallen wie von weit,
als welkten in den Himmeln ferne Gärten;
sie fallen mit verneinender Gebärde.
 
Und in den Nächten fällt die schwere Erde
aus allen Sternen in die Einsamkeit.
 
Wir alle fallen. Diese Hand da fällt.
Und sieh dir andre an: es ist in allen.
 
Und doch ist Einer, welcher dieses Fallen
unendlich sanft in seinen Händen hält.











Leda
				
When in his need the God entered,
he was almost shocked to find the swan so beautiful;
he let himself thus confused disappear in it.
But his ruse already arced him toward the deed

before he could test the feelings
of the untested being he was becoming. And she, 
already opened, had soon recognized him as he came 
into the swan, and fully knew he wanted the one thing

that she, beside herself in her resistance,
could no longer hide. The God came closer,
and necking through her ever-weakening hand

released himself in his beloved.
Only then, when happily he felt full plumage
in her softness, did he truly become a swan.



Leda

Als ihn der Gott in seiner Not betrat, 
erschrak er fast, den Schwan so schön zu finden;
er ließ sich ganz verwirrt in ihm verschwinden.
Schon aber trug ihn sein Betrug zur Tat,

bevor er noch des unerprobten Seins
Gefühle prüfte. Und die Aufgetane
erkannte schon den Kommenden im Schwane
und wusste schon: er bat um Eins,

das sie, verwirrt in ihrem Widerstand, 
nicht mehr verbergen konnte. Er kam nieder
und halsend durch die immer schwächere Hand

ließ sich der Gott in die Geliebte los.
Dann erst empfand er glücklich sein Gefieder
und wurde wirklich Schwan in ihrem Schoß.

from Les Roses



I.

If at times your freshness so surprises us, 
happy rose, 
it is because inside yourself, 
petal against petal, you are so at rest. 

As a whole wide awake, their center sleeps
when this quiet heart’s countless 
tendernesses touch that urge 
each other into the eager mouth.



I.

Si ta fraîcheur parfois nous étonne tant,
heureuse rose,
c’est qu’ en toi-même en dedans,
pétale contre pétale, tu te reposes.
	
Ensemble tout éveillé, dont le milieu
dort, pendant qu’ innombrables, se touchent
les tendresses de ce cœur silencieux
qui aboutissent à l’ extrême bouche.

II.

Rose, I see you as a book— 
partly open, yet completely filled with more pages 
of detailed joy 
than anyone will ever read, Magnus Libra;

and that left open in the wind even can be read 
eyes closed—from whom butterflies emerge 
as if confused for having had the same thoughts.




II.

Je te vois, rose, livre entre baillé,
qui contient tant de pages
de bonheur détaillé
qu’on ne lira jamais. Livre-mage.

Qui s’ouvre au vent et qui peut être lu
les yeux fermes...
dont les papillons sortent confus
d’avoir eu les mêmes idées

III.

Rose—you, the thing completely par excellence
that infinitely contains itself and infinitely stems forth— 
O head despite from a body so lacking in sweetness,

how unequaled you are, supreme essence
of this floating place 
this love-space where
when we come barely towards you 
your perfume completely fills the air.			




III.

Rose, toi, chose par excellence complète
qui se contient infiniment 
et qui infiniment se répand, o tête
d'un corps par trop de douceur absent,

rien ne te vaut, o toi, suprême essence 
de ce flottant séjour;
de cet espace d'amour ou à peine l'on avance
ton parfum fait le tour.

Rainer Maria Rilke (1875–1926) was an Austrian poet from Prague whose major works include The Book of Hours (Das Stundenbuch), New Poems (Neue Gedichte), the Duino Elegies (Duineser Elegien), and the Sonnets to Orpheus (Die Sonette an Orpheus). He also wrote a celebrated French cycle, The Roses (Les Roses).

Poetry by Pushcart Prize Nominee, Richard Becker, has been published in Columbia Journal, America, Baltimore Review, Cold Mountain, Slipstream and in ucityreview.com, whose “On Sunday Afternoons,” a Finishing Line Press 2022 Chapbook, Eamon Grennan called, “a collection of vividly stimulating surprises,” and about whose poetic sequence, “Fates” (The Literary Review’s 2008 Chapbooks Issue), Robert Creeley wrote, “it has a dense sensual feel of language, various yet consistent, really a great size and shape. Delightful!” (in a 1998 email to Becker).

14 July 2026